


that's my job

by besully (Briar_Elwood)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Feral Slav Jaskier, Geraskier Week, M/M, Protection, day three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22755193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briar_Elwood/pseuds/besully
Summary: Geraskier Week Day Three: ProtectionThey’re close to Blaviken, and the fact is made clear by the change of whispers from “the White Wolf” to “the Butcher of Blaviken”. Geralt hates it, but there’s a job so it doesn’t matter. All the same, once the kikimora is dead, they stay in the woods to make camp for the night. Apparently Jaskier picked up on Geralt’s discomfort while in town because the moment they finally sit down to eat, he asks for his side of the “Butcher of Blaviken” story. Geralt’s not sure why, but he tells him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 398





	that's my job

They’re close to Blaviken, and the fact is made clear by the change of whispers from “the White Wolf” to “the Butcher of Blaviken”. Geralt hates it, but there’s a job so it doesn’t matter. All the same, once the kikimora is dead, they stay in the woods to make camp for the night. Apparently Jaskier picked up on Geralt’s discomfort while in town because the moment they finally sit down to eat, he asks for his side of the “Butcher of Blaviken” story. Geralt’s not sure why, but he tells him.

Jaskier is quiet throughout the story, expression neutral. Geralt finishes the story and looks down at the rabbit meat in his hands, picking at it. Finally, Jaskier says something.

“You were in love with her.”

Geralt scoffs. “I barely knew her.”

“Just because you fall in love with an idea doesn’t make the love any less real.”

Geralt doesn’t have a rebuttal to that.

* * *

Geralt lets the kikimora head drop on the table when he finds the alderman the next day. The alderman looks at it with disgust, then looks up to Geralt with even more disgust.

“I won’t be paying for that, Butcher.”

“The flyer specifically asked for a witcher,” Geralt growls.

“But not the fucking Butcher of Blaviken,” the alderman says. “You can fuck right off.”

Usually, Geralt would raise himself to his full height and glower until the man gave in, but they’re too close to Blaviken. He refuses to make a scene this close to that forsaken town.

* * *

“ _ Butcher _ .”

Geralt ignores the whispers and makes his way through the crowd in the tavern to the bar. Jaskier is playing “Toss a Coin” to a less than enthusiastic audience, trying to earn them some coin before they move on to the next job. Meanwhile, Geralt could use a beer with the little coin they have left. He pushes the coin across the bar and makes his order, eyes on Jaskier and unaware of the glare from the bartender.

“We don’t serve your kind here.”

Geralt turns, notices the glare, and sighs. “I just want some beer. Then I will be on my way, you have my word.”

“And what good is the word of the Butcher of Blaviken?”

The moniker causes a ripple in the crowd surrounding them, and Geralt turns to see about six men advancing, hands on for-now sheathed weapons. Before Geralt can comment or make a move toward his swords, Jaskier is suddenly between him and the advancing men, lute held out in front of him like a sword of his own.

“Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs warningly.

“Back the fuck up,” Jaskier seethes. One of the men--the one who seems to be in charge--laughs.

“What are you going to do, little bard?”

“I will beat you to a goddamn pulp,” Jaskier responds without hesitation. “In case you didn’t heard the song, Geralt of Rivia is a friend to humanity. He is  _ not _ , nor has he ever been, a fucking  _ butcher _ .”

“Jaskier,” Geralt says again, eyes flitting around to each of the men who all seem ready to pounce.

“Now back the fuck up,” Jaskier continues, ignoring Geralt. “I won’t ask again.”

The leader scoffs and takes a step forward, unsheathing his dagger. There’s a crash and a  _ twang _ , and suddenly Jaskier is standing over the man--who’s now unconscious on the floor--the handle of his lute the only thing left in his grip. The rest of the instrument is splintered on the floor and the man. Jaskier snatches the dagger and wields it in the direction of the other five men with a look that would make flowers wither.

“Anyone else?”

The remaining men share significant looks, glancing at their unconscious leader, frowning at Geralt, and eyeing Jaskier warily. Slowly, they back away, re-entering the tavern’s crowd of customers.

Geralt, on the other hand, hasn’t taken his eyes of Jaskier. With a sigh, Jaskier tucks the dagger in his waistline and turns to Geralt. He reaches out and brushes an errant hair out of Geralt’s face.

“Are you okay?”

Geralt blinks. “Am I okay?” he echoes. “Jaskier, you-- your lute-- you--”

Jaskier sighs, glancing at the lute handle still in his hand before dropping it. “I can replace the lute. I can’t replace you. I have to keep you safe.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “I could’ve taken them easily.”

Jaskier smiles, tucking another strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear. “Physically, yeah. Emotionally? That’s my job.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @ loralielo


End file.
